


Contrary to Popular Belief

by platypi_in_ties



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: 1500 word drabble, Combeferre would totally own a record player come on, First Kiss, High School AU, M/M, Rolling Stones - Freeform, adorably awkward dorks, expanded headcannon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-11
Updated: 2013-08-11
Packaged: 2017-12-23 04:16:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,477
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/921888
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/platypi_in_ties/pseuds/platypi_in_ties
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Contrary to popular belief, Grantaire was not Enjolras' first kiss.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Contrary to Popular Belief

                Contrary to popular belief, Grantaire was not Enjolras’ first kiss.

                No, that had occurred much earlier, when Enjolras was fifteen.

                It had started innocently enough: two best friends lying on the carpet of Combeferre’s bedroom floor, talking about everything and nothing while listening to old albums on the ancient record player Combeferre had received from his father.

                Combeferre had recently begun seeing a pretty girl from their chemistry class, Juliette. She was his first real girlfriend, and she had given him a kiss on the cheek the day before. This was a major development in fifteen-year-old-Combeferre’s life.

                “I’m going to have to kiss her soon, aren’t I?” he asked, seemingly out of the blue, as the record player scratched out a grainy recording of the Rolling Stones.

                Enjolras opened one eye and fixed him with a semi-dubious glare, if such a thing were possible. “Do you  _want_  to kiss her?”

                “Yeah…” Combeferre let out his breath in a huff and adjusted his glasses. “Yeah I do.”

                Enjolras raised an eyebrow. “Then why do you sound like you’re preparing yourself for the guillotine? You get to kiss a pretty girl. Isn’t that what most teenage boys are supposed to want?” He tried to keep the edge out of his voice. He really did.

                “I don’t know,” Combeferre sighed, rolling onto his stomach and cradling his head in his hands. “That’s the problem, isn’t it?” He asked after a moment. “I don’t know how.”

                “How to…?”

                Combeferre groaned and pinched the bridge of his nose between his forefinger and thumb. “How to kiss, Enj.”

                “Ah.”

                “Yeah, ‘ah.’”

                A silence fell over them, Combeferre staring unseeingly at the carpet, Enjolras staring at Combeferre, the only sound in the room coming from the whir of the overhead fan and the gritty, warbling music coming from the old speakers.

                 _“I see a line of cars and they are painted black…”_

                “You could always-” The words got stuck in Enjolras’ throat. His mouth had suddenly become very dry. “I mean, you could practice…somehow?” It came out like a question, though Enjolras wasn’t really sure what he was asking. He wasn’t even quite sure why he’d said it.

                Combeferre snorted. “What? On a pillow? This isn’t one of those 80’s teen movies, and I’m not twelve.”

                Enjolras shrugged. “Just an idea.”

                Enjolras looked up at the ceiling, watching the fan revolve lazily on its axis. He could feel Combeferre’s eyes on him, but for a long while neither of them spoke.

                “It is an idea…” Combeferre muttered eventually, causing Enjolras to send him a confused glance. “Practice, I mean…”

                Enjolras made a noncommittal noise and studied the loosened threads of a snag on the right shoulder of Combeferre’s light blue sweater.

                “Then again, it’s not like I can go kiss some other girl when I’m with Juliette,” Combeferre mumbled, mostly to himself.

                “Well, when you do figure it out, let me know,” Enjolras said, and it only sounded a little sharp.

                Combeferre smiled teasingly. “Oh? What happened to Mr. ‘I-Don’t-Have-Time-For-This-Romantic-Crap’ from yesterday?”

                Enjolras shrugged and tried and failed to keep the blood from rushing a bit overzealously to his cheeks. “Curiosity, I suppose.”

                 _“I see the girls walk by dressed in their summer clothes…”_

                “Well…” Combeferre started after a few moments pause, sounding hesitant. “I mean… Seeing as we’re both curious as to the mechanics of it… Maybe we should… Practice… together?”

                Enjolras’ eyes snapped up to meet his and this time there was no hope of hiding the blush that came to his cheeks. “What?” he all-but-squeaked.

                “I mean… it’s only logical…” Combeferre adjusted his glasses nervously and suddenly became very interested in a spot about three inches to the left of Enjolras’ ear.

                Enjolras scoffed. “Logical…” How very like Combeferre to propose that they should kiss – for lack of a better term - for  _science_.

                There was a line before them. Enjolras could feel it. They were teetering on it like tightrope walkers, like adventurous children walking along the top of a fence, unsure of which side it would be best to jump to. The uncertainty of their position was almost more nerve-wracking than Combeferre’s proposition.  

                “I mean, unless… I… forget it, okay? I… Please don’t think I’m weird or anything, okay? It’s just, you’re my best friend and - I mean, if I had to choose someone to-”

                “Okay,” Enjolras said quietly.

                Combeferre stopped talking abruptly. “Okay?” He looked down at Enjolras, eyebrows furrowed.

                Enjolras raised himself up slightly on his elbows and nodded nervously. “Okay,” he whispered.

                “I-  _Oh_. Um. Okay. I mean… Do I just…”

                Enjolras rolled his eyes and raised himself up higher on his elbows. “Kiss me.”

                Combeferre stared down at him apprehensively for a moment, looking as nervous as Enjolras felt, but at least this – Enjolras demanding, Combeferre granting – was familiar. He nodded after a moment, as if he had made up his mind, and leaned down farther, shortening the distance between them. His eyes flicked down to Enjolras’ lips. Enjolras licked them subconsciously, copying the glance without thinking.

Combeferre swallowed anxiously, Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat.

                Slowly, very slowly, Combeferre closed the distance and pressed his lips to his.

It just barely counted as contact, feather-light. Enjolras could hardly feel it at all. It was over before it had begun.

                Combeferre pulled away slightly and they stared at each other for a few moments in surprise.

                “Um…” seemed to be all Enjolras could manage. His heart was pounding in his throat, a mix of anxiety over the situation and relief over the fact that it was done - they had chosen their side, made the jump, and though they were now soundly on the other side of that line, at least their feet were back on solid ground.

                “Should we-” Combeferre stuttered out. “I mean… Redo?”

                Enjolras nodded wordlessly and Combeferre leaned in again, this time with more confidence. Combeferre’s lips were warm against his, chapped from hours spent chewing on them while studying in the library. Without thinking, Enjolras found himself kissing back. The kiss was sweet and chaste, and lasted no more than two seconds.

                Combeferre pulled away slowly, warm grey eyes studying Enjolras’ carefully.

                Without speaking, he leaned down again and this time Enjolras was ready. He captured his chapped lips with his own, kissing him soundly, because he hadn’t been lying when he’d said he was curious, and that kiss had provided him with far more questions than answers.

They began trading short, chaste kisses. Too short. Enjolras slowed them down, drawing each kiss out just a bit longer than the one before until their lips fell into a smooth rhythm together.

Combeferre tasted like honey and cinnamon – like comfort, friendship, and laughter; childhood autumns spent jumping in piles of leaves together, rainy nights spent in living room blanket forts, midnight cinnamon toast and long afternoon study sessions.

After what felt like an eternity and yet no time at all, Combeferre pulled away and – to his mortification - Enjolras found himself following him.

He caught himself and his eyes shot open, a burning heat traveling up his neck and pooling in his cheeks.

Combeferre laughed shakily and pushed himself all the way up to a sitting position. “Well, that’s that settled.”

“That’s what settled?” Enjolras asked breathlessly.   

“How to kiss. I feel much better about Juliette now. Thanks, Enj.” He smiled kindly down at him, because Combeferre was never unkind, and Enjolras felt as if he had just been doused in ice water.

The kiss had wiped out all memory of Juliette from his mind, but now it was back, beating furiously against the inside of Enjolras’ skull. Combeferre had a girlfriend. He had kissed him for his girlfriend.

“Additional benefit,” Combeferre added with a light chuckle as he stood to change the album on the record player, “I can now say with full confidence that I only like girls.”

Enjolras wasn’t quite so sure he could say the same.

After that, there were no more kisses. Combeferre continued seeing Juliette for another three months before she broke up with him and he started seeing Celine, then Nicole, then Zoe, and Enjolras began to lose track as he started focusing less attention on his kind best friend with warm grey eyes and chapped lips that tasted like autumn and more attention on the fight for comprehensive socioeconomic justice.

When Grantaire kissed him for the first time, it was like a whole new world had opened to him. It was no awkward schoolboy fumbling, but precise, skilled, confident, wonderful. Grantaire tasted of alcohol and risks; passion, heated debates, a sharp wit, the feeling of the wind in his hair from the back of a motorcycle, and the fulfillment of many years spent in desire. Grantaire tasted of love.

Grantaire hadn’t been his first kiss.

But his had been the only kiss that truly mattered.


End file.
